Motherhood..."That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger..." (umm...right?!)

Sunday, 5 January 2014

"Give Us This Day Our Daily Naan"

"Para-para-paradise....para-para-paradise"

We have been here in Goa for a week now and are exactly one third of the way through our three week holiday. This is not good. True to form, it has taken us this long to settle into the swing of things here and get re-embedded into Goan beach life.

This means that the boys no longer get antsy and annoyed when food at the beach shacks take ages to arrive. This also means that they have mastered the art of triple-wearing their sandy clothes and know that unless their clothes actually smell offensive they get another airing...and another. (Inexplicably, whilst we seem to have brought along a plethora of colour changing mood lightbulbs and mini Haribo, we seem to be a tad light on things like clothes and sunscreen. I blame it on continued fallout of our splendiferous Christmas punch.)

New Year's Eve was a smash hit, in so much as, like any truly epic party, the police stormed in (not just the local police - the 'police inspecter'!) at 4am to Shut. It. Down. Apparently the husband, who was dj'ing, mis-heard, and given the music was so loud he turned it down instead. Oopsie. Cue the furious yanking of cables, a sudden silence storm, confused party-goers milling about mid-step, and one Apple Mac and portable decks confiscated and taken back to the police station (...only to be returned the next day once a whopping 15,000 Rupees were donated by the pissed off beach shack owner to the local police retirement fund or some such in return for the husbands gear).

Of course I knew none of this, being the devoted wife and mother that I am (roll eyes now). I somehow got trapped beneath a sleeping and grumpy very fat baby for the better part of two hours round midnight so only threw shapes in my head (however as my sister pointed out, I probably did my share and then some of dancing for 2013 during both our Christmas party and our impromptu Christmas night rave up....a fair point.)

Anyway, I awoke New Year's Day to find THIS in bed beside me:

Normally it would have caused me a bit of a fright but I wasn't the least bit surprised to be honest. I merely shrugged my shoulders, leaned over lazily to snap photo evidence, then rolled back over for some more sleep. That's a long-term relationship for you...

But by no means does the husband get to lay claim to any sole disgraceful behaviour. Worryingly, the full litre-sized Russian Standard bottle of vodka we brought on holiday seems to have magically disappeared in only six days, and no one is the wiser as to how that may have occurred.

Add to that my increasing dependance on cheese and garlic naan and you can see that I have the beginnings of a problemo here, and that if I don't watch it I can very much forget my current spring/summer wardrobe aspirations and start making provisions for more loose-fitting and boho-esque kimono's that will help me blend in better at the Priory upon our return.

I do have to give a big shout out to my sister Kenz though, as the other night she saw how irritable I was (stomping around in my flip-flops...do you know how hard that is to do by the way?) and insisted we trade places for the night. So SHE went to dinner with the monsters and le husband and I got to hang out by myself outside her adorable waterside room, order in fresh delicious wood oven Genovese pizza and pour myself one (possibly more?) of her delicious, pre-made and rather lethal dirty martini's. It was HEAVEN.

(Come to think of it, maybe therein lies the mystery of the disappearance of the last remaining Russian Standard? I have vague memories of 'topping up' my fresh lime soda quite a few times after dinner, playing tunes rather too loudly on my new Minirig speaker, and breaking her mini-lantern causing a volcanic gush of blood red candle wax all over her new door mat.)

The only photographic evidence I have of my less than salubrious behaviour is this selfie I don't remember taking (...and fyi husband, this makes us even - see, i have no shame and will happily post less than flattering pics of myself with as much indiscretion as of you):

Hmmm..... (To be fair, I think that's a toothpick sticking out of my mouth)

Anyway, today has started in a rather lovely fashion. I have been manhandled for 90 minutes, turned inside out then back again (by a man who is not my husband) and I feel AMAZING for it. I think I may have to coerce our masseuse into returning back to the UK with us wherein I will hold him hostage for 18 years or so, make him bunk up with the fat baby, and only release him when my bones are too brittle to manipulate. And you think I'm joking.

Well tara for now (mostly) frozen folks. I intend to wallow in the heat, try NOT to get vomited on again today (that was my breakfast surprise - thanks fat baby! - and probably my fault entirely for letting him gorge on biscuits whilst le husband and I had yet another decadent 'lie in'.) Given my current jelly-bodied post massage state I reckon that's all I can reasonably set as a daily goal.

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ABOUT ME...

I am a well-intentioned but frequently disillusioned wife and mother, cathartically blogging about the daily frustrations of raising three(!) boys (Egg 12, Dumpie 10, and Squitty 'the baby' 5...) whilst trying to forge a career in music.
As a frustrated artist, domestic slave, and hardcore fashionista , life is a constant struggle of trying not to lose the plot whilst keeping a sense of self.
Throw in a husband who also refuses to "grow up", wonderfully dysfunctional family and friends, and you get a shambolic household that shouldn't work - but somehow does.
These domestic adventures and random observations of the world at large (fueled in part by excessive daily intake of chocolate and caffeine) are contained herein. Welcome to my world...